Space Alert!
by The Box
Summary: This is a story about heroes; a story of exploration, adventure, and bravery. It's the story of a captain and his vaguely competent crew, of shooting things with enormous lasers and being sarcastic in the face of danger. But, most of all, it's the story of a game - a game called SPACE ALERT!
1. Space!

_Author's Note: I've been playing quite a few boardgames recently (don't ask why), and felt like writing something about one (again, don't ask why), so..._

_Space Alert! _

_Yeah!_

_Space Alert i__s a comedic, chaotic cooperative game for five players. It's got a sci-fi theme where you play as the crew of a ship sent to investigate an unknown sector of space, and, of course, havoc ensues and you must try and survive against all manner of natural and unnatural threats. The twist is that it's in real-time – each scenario is a ten minute track on a CD which the 'crew' has to react to, which generally results in a lot of panicked stupidity and/or fun. It's definitely different to most of the board games out there, and it's actually pretty great._

_I've __tried to make this story relatively faithful to the game experience, on the off-chance that some of you have played it, and it's also going to be pretty short, since a) the game only lasts for ten minutes, and b) __I have something called Till the End of Time that I should really stop avoiding. _

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, since I had a bit of fun writing it. A____nd if you do read this (because... you're browsing the Misc Games section for some reason?), it would be great if you could leave a review. Thanks!_

_Rated T for swearing, violence, insulting the French and high-level comedic mayhem, i.e. the best kind of mayhem._

* * *

**Space!**

The atmosphere in the elevator was frosty, and it wasn't just because of the climate control.

"Put on your jumpsuit, Vimpers."

"No."

"Put it on."

"No."

"Vimpers, put on the suit."

"But it's bright purple. It's _bright purple_."

"Well, great. At least you'll be easy to spot."

"It's a skintight, bright-fucking-purple one-piece."

"High visibility, Vimpers, is one of the keys to good shipboard safety."

"High visibility does not mean that I have to wear a purple fucking jumpsuit!"

"But you do, Vimpers."

"I do _not!_"

"You do."

"It makes me look like a gay abominable snowman!"

"It looks good, Vimpers."

"No, it doesn't! I don't want to wear it!"

"You drew the short straw, Vimpers. You have to."

"But it's purple! It's fucking pur—"

"Well, mine's yellow. That's almost as bad."

"No it's not! My favourite colour is yellow! I would be perfectly happy with a fluorescent yellow suit!"

"But you don't have a fluorescent yellow suit, Vimpers. I do. _You_ have a purple suit, and you are going to put it on. You are going to wear it, Vimpers, whether you like it or not, and you are going to wear it proudly like the upstanding member of the Grand Terran Navy (Space Exploration Division) that you are. I do not care if the suit is purple, Vimpers. I wouldn't care if it was covered in crudely-drawn penises. The suit, Vimpers, is very important, because it makes you recognisable amidst the merry chaos of spaceflight and it might just save your _miserable_ life if you happen to get sucked out of an airlock. So PUT – IT – ON."

"…Fine."

"I'm glad to see you've had a change of heart, Vimpers."

"Fuck you, Captain."

"I'd rather you didn't, Vimpers. Now – that's not so bad, is it?"

"It's very tight. It's purple. It's a jumpsuit. It's QUITE FUCKING BAD."

"Oh, Vimpers, look on the bright side."

"What bright side? It's a purple fucking—"

"Yes, it is, as you seem so fond of reminding me. I can see quite well for myself that it is a purple _fluffing_ jumpsuit."

"And that's the whole problem, isn't it."

"…Vimpers? You should lighten up."

"'Lighten up? _Lighten up?_"

"Look, it's nicely personalised – even has your name on it. 'Vimpers', stitched right across the chest. Vimpers, Vimpers, Vimpers."

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"I'd _really _love it if you stopped saying 'Vimpers.'"

"But that's your name, isn't it? Or have you been misleading me?"

"Yes, it's my name."

"Then why can't—"

"I'd prefer 'John'."

"John?"

"Yes."

"…But 'John' is so _boring_. 'Vimpers,' on the other hand, is just _so_ much fun to say. Vimpers Vimpers Vimpers Vimpers Vimpers—"

"Fuck you, Captain."

"Fuck you too, John."

_Ding!_

The elevator doors opened and the two men stepped out onto the main floor of Docking Bay D-23.

The bay was but one of many on the station, and was a vast, football-field expanse of reflective metal sheeting, bright fluorescent lights and softly-humming air vents. The ceiling seemed far too high to be practical; refuelling tubes and supply crates dotted the floor. A blue, weakly-flickering forcefield served as the far wall, beyond which was just the deep dark blackness of space.

And, in the middle of the bay, there was a ship.

She wasn't the prettiest of vessels. The nose was a little bulbous, the flanks a little squat, the armour a little dented. Her hull was dirty and utilitarian, all angles and no style, and she was a bit of a bitch to get going sometimes with engines that never seemed to fart out enough thrust and cabins that were far too small. Laser cannons and shield projectors dotted her hull like his first girlfriend's eczema.

But, she was _his… _which was more than he could say for the girlfriend. The _SD Incredulous,_ a _Sitting Duck _class exploration vessel.

"Ready for another mission, Vimpers?"

"Never, Captain."

"Likewise."

* * *

The Captain was a well-built man (though struck with early-onset wrinkles), with a wide chest and a square jaw, and he strode up the docking ramp with as much authority as he could muster while wearing a bright yellow jumpsuit. Vimpers followed close behind, thin and bird-like, probably picking his nose or doing some other beastly thing. Soon they emerged into the belly of the _Incredulous_: the austere, gunmetal-grey engineering section.

Central engineering was a big, cavernous mess of angled catwalks and rusting girders, covered in metal grills and black-and-yellow hazard paint. Electrical cables snaked up the walls and dangled from the curving, shadowy ceiling. Fuel cubes were stored in canisters on the starboard – or was it port? The Captain could never quite remember – side. There were two viewports directly opposite, thick plexiglass windows that served absolutely no purpose other than to drive the engineers crazy with the unknowable vastness of the universe. In the middle of the chamber was a glowing green reactor pit that fed the main areas of the ship with smooth, crispy plasma power.

The docking ramp closed behind them, lifted by groaning hydraulics, and Vimpers and the Captain began picking their way across the room, their feet clanking on the metal floor.

Suddenly, there was a flash of red in the far corner.

"Kulkmann? Is that you?" the Captain called out.

"It's me, Captain Hammer."

"How goes it?"

A red-jumpsuited figure popped out from underneath a walkway and waved at them nervously. "Just making sure the reactor is all set," it said.

"Excellent thinking. We wouldn't want it breaking down on us, would we now."

"No sir."

"Good man. Vimpers, do you have anything to add?"

"No, Captain _Hammer_."

The Captain winced. "Very well. Kulkmann?"

"Yes sir?"

"I'm sure the reactors will break down without our help. Come up to the bridge; it's briefing time."

* * *

The _Incredulous_, when you got down to it, was shaped a bit like a bat. No, not really a bat; more like a ladybird. It was divided into three zones – port, center, and starboard – with each zone having an upper and lower level, connected by doors and gravolifts (which were like normal lifts, except more prone to breaking down and much harder to fix).

In practice, the zones were called red/white/blue instead of port/center/starboard. The Captain didn't really know why this was, though he suspected it was because no one actually remembered the difference between port and starboard. Each of the upper three zones featured a dome-like shield projector and a phallic heavy laser cannon, with the strongest cannons and shields in the centre and slightly weaker ones in the lateral zones. The upper red zone also contained a small launch bay with three one-man interceptors, while upper blue contained a squadron of anti-boarding battlebots (currently deactivated).

Each of the lower zones contained a reactor for powering their section of the ship – two secondary reactors in red and blue and the main reactor in white. The lateral lower zones were armed with light cannons, with the central lower zone having a wide-spread pulse gun. Red-low contained another squad of battlebots, for when the security situation got _really_ serious, and blue-low had a ship-to-ship missile launcher bolted onto the hull.

The white upper zone was the ship's bridge. Its main distinguishing feature was the control computer, a floor-to-ceiling mass of flatscreens that apparently displayed useful information. The Captain generally disagreed with this assessment, because computers, eh?

And that was it, really. Cannons and reactors. Shields and battlebots. Flickering glow-tubes and grilled metal flooring. Fat green cables and angular hull plates. Irritatingly low ceilings and uncomfortably squishy chairs.

That was it.

* * *

The _Incredulous' _bridge was a roughly triangular chamber, bright and airy, with the same angles-'n'-grills aesthetic as the rest of the ship. There were five seats (one for each of the crew), surrounded by viewscreens and starmaps and important-looking levers, with an additional gunnery/shields station embedded in the front wall. The main computer was doing its best imitation of a window, displaying a camera feed from the nose of the ship.

As Vimpers and the Captain stepped out of the gravolift, the other two crewmembers were already in their seats. First was Genevieve Mackerel, the comms officer, dressed in bright blue.

Genevieve was the only woman on the crew, much to the others' dismay. She was, however, quite pretty, with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and bright green eyes, and a chest that attracted eyes like a failed simile attracts… something. (Zing!)

There was also Gaspard, the security officer, who was dressed in green. The Captain didn't know Gaspard's last name. He suspected that Gaspard didn't know Gaspard's last name, because Gaspard was French, and so his name was French and long.

Gaspard was also devilishly handsome and a bit of a hotshot, with cropped black curls and skin as smooth as a Mars Bar. That was enough of a reason for 'Gaspard' to transform into 'Bastard' in the Captain's mind.

"Captain Hammer, on the bridge," Genevieve murmured into her microphone.

The Captain winced. "That's not necessary, Genevieve."

"Only following regulations, Captain. And Vimpers, I see you're looking as good as ever," she added, spinning around in her chair.

"Likewise, Mackerel," Vimpers retorted. "Whose idea was this, anyway? We look like a troupe of second-rate children's entertainers."

"I prefer 'human rainbow,'" the Captain said lightly. "If you _must_ know, it's a new directive from high command. Some idiots somewhere blew up because they couldn't 'adequately assign crew roles from range', so now we all have jumpsuits to make that… easier? I don't fluffing know." He trudged over to the front of the bridge and turned to address his crew. "Kulkmann?"

"Yes sir?"

"Sit down."

"Okay."

Kulkmann sat down. So did Vimpers, with a face like a stormcloud.

"Gaspard?"

"M-hm?"

"Stop being so French."

"I beg your pardon, Captain?"

"Juuuuust kidding, Gaspard. You know I love that handsome, _French_ face of yours. Ahem. Anyway." He leant over and flicked the bridge computer's touchscreen. After an awkwardly long moment, it buzzed dimly to life, displaying an overview of Space Sector 581.

"This – is Space Sector 581," the Captain said, slightly redundantly. He pointed at the screen. It was a gridded, grainy view of inky darkness and distant stars, located in the nearby galactic arm. "Our task today is to jump into this sector, scan the region, take note of any enemy actions, and jump back. Same as always. The ship computer will take care of the jumping, and the scanning, so all we need to do is worry about the enemy action."

"Same as always," Kulkmann muttered to himself.

"Exactly. Not hard, right? Unfortunately, the nature of the job means that we don't know what to expect after the jump. Because it's our job to find out what to expect. Because we are an exploration vessel."

"May I call you Captain Obvious, Captain Hammer?"

"No you may _not_, Crewman Vimpers." The Captain sighed. "…Look, I'm just being thorough. Anyway. As you know, sometimes we _do_ encounter some hostile behaviour that might, in only the most extreme cases, lead to a sticky situation. So our job is just to repel those bog-standard, nay, _feeble_ attacks, and keep the ship suitably functional for the ten minutes it takes to jump in, scan, and jump out. We've got shields, rockets, several quite large cannons and two battlebot squads, so it shouldn't be a problem to deal with any, um, problems that may arise. And 581 is a null-sec region, so we can expect a handsome bonus when-and-or-if we return. Any questions?"

Genevieve raised her hand. "Bonus points for use of the word 'nay', Captain."

"That's not a question."

"I know."

"Well… any _other _questions?"

"When do we leave?" Gaspard asked. "I am eager to commence this _glorious_ mission."

The Captain scratched at his silvery-grey hair. It appeared that Gaspard was not being sarcastic, which was, admittedly, a nice contrast to the rest of the crew. "Um – now, if you want. As soon as we're all strapped in and ready."

"Then let us strap it on and be ready," the Frenchman said brightly.

"Okay then. That's good enthusiasm. Now, I want us ready to deal with _anything_ once we come out of hyperspace."

"Does 'anything' include your poor sense of humour, Captain?"

"Don't test me, Vimpers. We've done these kinds of missions before, so let's just be careful and we'll all come back alive. And we all want that, don't we."

* * *

An excerpt from the Space Exploration 101 course taught at the Galactic Military Academy: _How to Be A Space Explorer in Seven Easy Lessons._

_ 'Most of the time, it's a quiet job. Boring, even. The best-paying ten minutes of doing nothing you'll ever find. Keep in mind that you might jump into one of the sleepiest sectors of the galaxy, where nothing has happened for millennia. Science fiction writers would have you believe that alien beings living in such a place would treat you as gods. And maybe they're right. _

_ 'But they're not paying me to lie to you. What they don't mention is that most of the inhabitants of the galaxy detest gods and like nothing better than blowing them to hell. As soon as you come out of hyperspace: WHAM! They're all over you. Deal with it. Try to imagine the sweat stinging your eyes as you traverse the twisted remains of a gravolift shaft while everything is blowing up around you, with someone screeching into your headphones about how bad things are on the other side of the ship. And when you finally get to the lower deck, you find out that there's not enough energy in the reactor, something has ripped through the hull of the ship like paper, and the computer has just sighted an incoming space monster bigger than—'_

* * *

He took one last look around the bridge; all appeared to be in order. His four crew sat down and buckled themselves in, ready for the FTL jump into Sector 581, hands at their control stations. The floors had been fully cleaned of the previous mission's bloodstains, and none of the screens were flashing arcane warnings at him.

The Captain typed his mission authorisation code into the computer (M-O-S-T-L-Y-H-A-R-M-L-E-S-S) and fell back into his chair. Screens and pads folded out from his armrests. Memory-foam restraints zig-zagged across his chest. The lights dimmed to a gloomy shade of blue. One final check flashed across his console and he passed it with a swipe of his finger.

And just like that they were on their way, locked in, ready to fly a trillion miles in a heartbeat. No matter how many times he did it, it always seemed so terrifyingly quick, so _casual._

"Alert!" the computer barked, in an almost offensively neutral voice. "All crew, move to FTL-safe positions. The ship is preparing to jump."

_Here we go again. Into the unknown, where no man has gone before, like some goddamned Star-Trek-romantic._

_ I always hated that show._

"Alert! The ship is jumping in ten… nine… eight…"

_Space isn't romantic. Space is a dark, black all-consuming void that very much wants to kill you._

"Seven… six…"

The walls began to vibrate with soft, rising whine. If you were outside in the docking bay, you would've seen the _Incredulous'_ jump coils start to glow.

"Five… four…"

Inside the metal cocoon of the bridge, it was deathly quiet. "Everyone okay?" the Captain asked.

"Three…"

"Bit too late now, isn't it?" Vimpers said acidly.

"Two…"

"Well, I know Kulkmann always gets a little nervous during jumps."_ In other words, Kulkmann is sensible._ "You okay, Kulkmann?"

"One…"

He glanced behind him and saw Kulkmann shivering and gripping his chair like it was his dear departed mother, eyes almost popping from their sockets.

"Jumping."

In the docking bay, the _Incredulous _was there… and then it wasn't. Air rushed to fill a sudden void. Up on the bridge, there was a flash that seemed to explode from the very air of the ship, searing blue light that twisted into impossible shapes, spikes, flickering fast, behind his eyelids, consuming his mind, unbearable, streaming jets of energy that curled and formed a tunnel which they plunged through in a sickening, awful paradise—

"Jumped."

The Captain opened his eyes. "Computer!" he barked. "Display immediate surroundings! Visible spectrum, then radio!"

"Of course, Captain."

The screens on the front wall of the bridge began to flash through different views of the space around the ship, taking data from external cameras and sensor batteries. There were a couple of dull thuds as the _Incredulous_ launched its scanner satellites.

It looked pretty normal, at first glance: a twinkling black starfield, some pretty purple nebula, a couple of dust clouds radiating infra-red. There were a couple of stormy gas giants nearby, big and green, accompanied by a thin asteroid belt. The star was a standard yellow G-type, middle-aged; nothing to suggest they'd just jumped a couple of dozen light years into an uncharted system.

Apparently, they were in the central part of the sector, just below the solar plane, right on target. The ship's computer trawled through reams of incoming data, looking for anything interesting.

The Captain hoped it didn't find it. 'Interesting' was often a synonym for 'dangerous', and 'dangerous' was often a synonym for 'valiant captain killed in fulfilment of noble duty.'

"Our immediate surroundings are A-okay," Genevieve announced. "I'm not picking up any life-signs within a two light-minute bubble."

"Excellent. Keep looking."

"I am, Captain."

"Of course you are. Kulkmann?"

"Yes – yessir?"

"How are the reactors?"

"They're… fine, sir. Readings are within normal levels."

"Good to hear. For once." The Captain snorted. "Vimpers?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't 'yeah' me. We have protocol for a reason."

"Yes, Captain Hammer?"

"Ugh… just – go and sit in one of the gunnery stations."

"Okay, Captain Hammer."

"Ugh. Gaspard?"

"Yes, my captain?"

"Just keep being French. Just… keep bein' awesome."

"I will do my _utmost_, Captain. Would you like me to charge the shields as a precaution?"

"Uh – yes, actually. That'd be great. Thank you."

Gaspard stood up, bowed, and followed Vimpers to the shield/gunnery controls on the other side of the bridge.

The Captain blinked.

No alarms. That was a nice change. Usually there would've been a solar flare or an incoming asteroid or _something_ by now to make life inconveniently exciting for a few short moments. But… nothing. The scanners were scanning. The communications dishes were communicating. The stellar probes were circling away, collecting data for the Grand Terran Navy (Space Exploration Division) or whatever it was they did. Perhaps things would turn out nice and uneventful and he _wouldn't_ have to spend his big fat bonus check on insurance claims. The bridge was refreshingly quiet – no insults being traded back and forth, no blaring klaxons, just the quiet bleeps and bloops of the computer and the occasional rustle of a too-bright jumpsuit.

The Captain took a deep breath, smelling the sweet recycled air. He looked over at Genevieve, saw her gorgeously, _delicately _brush a strand of hair back behind her ear. He looked over at Gaspard and his Frenchness, at Vimpers and his purple fucking jumpsuit, at Kulkmann and his rabbity teeth and frazzled red goatee and scrawny fingers flying quickly over his control console, and couldn't help but feel the barest hint of pride.

But.

There's a curious thing about life. Apart from being all _sorts_ of unpleasant and occasionally pretty cool, it likes to be a little ironic from time to time. A little… _dramatically tense_. Because, after all, what is life but a stupid, surprising metaphor for something and then suddenly you think you're going somewhere with a paragraph, you think you're making a really cool, funny, nicely cynical point, but you lose the thread and you're just typing nonsense at 10:40 at night and you don't know what to do and you're too tired to start over and life and stuff and OH GOD—

_WOOOOOooooOOOOOoooo!_

An alarm, shattering the silence. The Captain jumped, as did everyone.

Life.

"Mackerel! Talk to me!"

"Gladly, sir. What would you like to talk about?"

"The weather!"

"Well, sir, I hear it's very nice in Sector 581 at the moment—

"No, you moron! Tell me what the goddamn alarm means!"

"Well, it's a bit shit, sir! It means that K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki gunship just jumped in and is heading straight for us!"

The Captain blinked. "…Seriously?"

"My god, sir, it just fired a couple of missiles at us!"

"Goddamnit!"

"Indeed, sir!"

"I thought this was going well!"

"As did we all, sir! Sir, you should probably do someth—"

The Captain cut her off. "Raise the shields! Again! Vimpers, fire that main cannon like you've never fired it before! Kulkmann, keep those reactors going!"

Around the bridge, there was much scurrying and panicked shouting.

"Sir!"

"Yes, Genevieve?"

"A couple of K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki cryoshield fighters just jumped in as well! They're accelerating 'round on flanking tracks! And we're going to have to move as well, sir, the ship just detected a couple of asteroids on near-collision courses!"

"Goddamnit again!"

"Indeed, sir! And—"

"There's an _'AND?'_"

"Regrettably, sir! The computer's having difficulty! Apparently the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki are beaming some sort of virus at us that's disrupting our primary memory cores!" Mackerel gestured helplessly at the main terminal, where the screens were gradually being overcome with static.

Several things went through the Captain's head at that moment.

First: That, frankly, the Sitting Duck class of exploration vessel was _a bit shit_. This kind of thing always, ALWAYS happened, and it was always the fluffing computer's fault. Something would make it go offline and then the crew would have to scramble around doing everything manually and inefficiently and stuffing-things-uppily.

Second: The K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki, in addition to having a stupid name, were intergalactic dicks of the highest order – mercenary, hostile, crab-like beings with a taste for senseless killing. Usually they at least _gloated_ a little before attacking a Sitting Duck, but no, it appeared that the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki were having a bad fluffing day.

Third: For someone who was named after a fish, Comms Officer Genevieve Mackerel was very, very attractive.

Fourth: Because of the way the jump drives worked, they wouldn't be able to get out of here for exactly ten minutes (the Sitting Duck class: still a bit shit). And things were getting out of hand, which meant…

The Captain glanced down at his control console. In addition to the touchscreens and joysticks and engine pedals that were arrayed around his chair, there was also, beneath a plastic casing, a big, red button. It was an important button. A _satisfying_ button. The kind of button that you slammed with your fist in certain undesirable circumstances.

Above the button, printed in thick black letters, were the words 'SPACE ALERT.'

Two faces flashed through his mind – a young girl and boy, laughing and smiling in a field of endless grass. Distantly, he heard Genevieve shouting about something else; some other threat, heading towards the _Incredulous._ His ship_._

The circumstances were certainly pretty undesirable.

So Captain Hammer flipped open the plastic cover and slammed his fist on the big red button. It was _very_ satisfying.


	2. ALERT!

**ALERT!**

The SPACE ALERT button did many things, most of which were bloody dangerous. It activated the full capacity of the ship's three reactors. It charged the shields and laser cannons far beyond safe levels. It diverted more power to the engines and made all of the ship's light flash a dramatic colour of red. Basically, it made things go faster and shoot harder.

Regrettably, it did not make the jump drivers charge more quickly, which was the one thing the Captain would've really appreciated, but... _I'll settle for some bigger guns._ "Okay, crew, I have just called a space alert!"

"A space alert?" Gaspard asked?

"Yes, a fluffing space alert!"

"An… alert in space?"

"Otherwise known as an alert in space, yes! First things first, we need to deal with the gunship and the fighters!"

"And the asteroid," Genevieve added helpfully.

"Yes, and that! Vimpers, I want you shooting like mad at that gunship!"

"On it."

"Kulkmann, get down to the lower deck and fire off the pulse gun as soon as those cryofighters are in range. And keep those reactors fuelled."

"I will."

"Genevieve and Gaspard, I need you to get to red and blue. You're on shield recharge duty and lateral guns."

Kulkmann ran to the gravolift and whooshed off to central engineering. Gaspard and Genevieve disappeared through opposite doors, after a brief argument about which doors they would be disappearing through. Vimpers swung into the main gunnery station and flipped the targeting goggles down over his eyes.

The Captain looked at one of the few viewscreens that was still functioning – on it, he could see the gunship circling. It had a long, rounded body and solar-panel wings, looking a bit like a pregnant space-wasp. The two missiles it had fired were arcing red lines on the screen, arcing red lines that were getting worryingly close to the _Incredulous_. The two fighters were coming in fast behind, charged ion trails streaming from their thrusters, cryoshields sparkling white and green. They appeared to by trying some sort of pincer movement while the gunship provided support.

"How's that cannon coming along, Vimpers?"

"Good thanks. How's that asteroid coming along, Captain?"

"Um…" He glanced down at the threat tracker. There appeared to be two asteroids tumbling towards them from the right flank. "Give me a second."

The Sitting Duck class was aptly-named – it was essentially designed to sit in space and scan things, and had a very limited capability for movement. It _did_, however, have a couple of cheap chemical boosters sticking out of its rear, so the Captain grasped the controls and pushed the engines to max. A low subsonic roar began emanating from the lower decks.

Slowly, gradually, the starfield outside began to move.

The Captain smiled as the _Incredulous _lumbered out of the calculated track of the asteroids, spitting fire all the way.

"Asteroid is good, Vimpers! How about that cannon?"

"Firing now!"

There was a bright purple flash as the main gun discharged several thousand megatons of pure, sparkling energy. A crackling violet bolt slashed through a hundred kilometres of spacetime, impacting _hard_ with the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki gunship. Its shield flickered valiantly before abruptly giving out. The rest of the bolt slammed into the gunship's hull, melting and cracking the plating, and a puff of life-support-looking gas spilled out into space from within.

"Good shot, Vimpers! Any chance of another?"

Vimpers gestured at him rudely.

"Well, keep at it!"

"Yeah, yeah, give me a minute. But didn't fish-girl say something about missiles?"

"Fish-girl? You mean Mackerel?"

"Semantics, Captain. What about the missiles?"

"Well, they're—" The Captain looked up at the screen. "SHIT!"

* * *

Kulkmann stepped out of the gravolift and into the comforting metallic darkness of central engineering. The ship hummed softly around him, same as always…

…except for the low roar of the chemical engines, more of a vibration than an actual sound. It made him shiver; the captain always pushed the engines too hard, and seemed completely unable to recognise that they were meant for fine manoeuvring, not high-speed chases.

Kulkmann jogged through the chamber, around the gently-pulsing reactor pit.

_BOOM!_

And then the ship jumped beneath him. Lights flickered. An ear-splitting _crack _shuddered through the deck. Kulkmann fumbled for the nearest handrail to stop himself from falling.

That was a hit, a big one. The K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki gunship must've gotten a couple of shots off-

_"My dearest crew!"_ the Captain announced merrily over the intercom. _"As you surely felt, we were just hit by two K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki missiles! There appears to have been light damage to section white, but – bloody hell, Vimpers, just recharge the shields, before they hit us again! Forget about the gun! Yes, Vimpers, it's the big green button—"_

_Click!_

Static.

The captain's words – specifically "bloody hell, Vimpers, just recharge the shields" – had Kulkmann worried. Recharging the shields would use up all the remaining fuel in the main reactor, which would mean they could no longer fire the section guns, which would be bad.

Quite bad.

Kulkmann ran to the nearest fuel canister and began dragging it towards the reactor. It was big cylinder, thick and heavy (and it screeched like _hell_ on the metal catwalk), but after thirty seconds of awkward grunting he'd manoeuvred it over to the reactor pit. He removed the top of the canister and tipped forward, putting his weight into it, muscles straining.

The canister clanged to the floor and bright green fuel rods tumbled out of it, hissing and spitting as they splashed into the roiling liquid at the bottom of the pit. Gradually, they diffused into a bubbly-looking ball – a glowing, spinning accretion of hot plasma that floated in the middle of the reactor.

The pit system was an awfully barbarian way of doing things, but at least it looked pretty cool.

* * *

"I can't fire the gun, Captain," Vimpers muttered on the bridge.

"What?"

"Can't shoot. Got no power."

"Why?"

"Charging the shields used up all the energy."

"Why don't we have more?"

"Some energy saving mandate, probably. 'No use wasting energy when you probably won't use it', et cetera et cetera."

The Captain groaned and reached for the intercom. "Kulkmann? Hello? We need you to refuel the main reac—"

"Wait," Vimpers interrupted. "I think he just did. Power's back." To prove it, he fired off another shot with the main cannon. Purple energy licked at the distant frigate, totally—

—missing it.

"Vimpers!"

"Yes?"

"You missed!"

"No shit, Captain!"

"It would've been really great if you didn't!"

"Stop shouting at me, Captain! I think…"

"…What do you think, Vimpers?"

"I think the gunship's retreating." Vimpers peered through his targeting goggles. "Yep. Definitely retreating."

The Captain's eyed flicked over to the threat tracker. The gunship was indeed retreating, swinging its bulbous body around and attempting to get to a slightly safer distance. It was still venting air into space, in addition to some screaming K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki crew. "I guess that's good enough," he muttered.

But even if the gunship was out of the fight, the two cryoshield fighters were still very much in it. They were getting close, screaming along at several hundred metres a second, getting ready to do a strafing run.

* * *

Genevieve sat in the red-side gunner's chair, tracking the oncoming fighter. It was a vicious-looking thing, all pointy guns and sleek plates, silhouetted against the nearby gas giant. The other attacking fighter was somewhere on the other side of the ship, hopefully being tracked by Gaspard.

Now, all they needed was for Kulkmann to fire the pulse gun from below. That would avoid her wasting a shot and deactivate both fighters' cryoshields long enough to land a killing blow. The trouble was, the pulse gun was a very short-range weapon, which meant the fighters would probably get a few shots in first—

And, suddenly, the first attacker was in range. _Thwack thwack thwack thwack thwack! _Electric blue plasma shells stitched a line along the _Incredulous'_ hull. Starbursts of shattered plating spiralled into the night.

_Zzzap!_

The pulse gun flared and a wave of blue swept out from beneath the ship, ripping away the fighters' shields. Genevieve gripped the controls tightly and fired her cannon. Half a second later, Gaspard did the same.

One fighter exploded in a cloud of orange flame. The other rolled stylishly to port and dodged the bolt by a hair, flashing purple as it zoomed past.

Gaspard had hit. She hadn't. _Goddamn Frenchman. _

The _Incredulous _slowly began turning to face the remaining fighter.

Then: _"Genevieve, Gaspard, recharge your sections' shields and get to the lifts! I need people down below refuelling the lower reactors! Vimpers will keep shooting at things!"_

Genevieve groaned and slid out of her seat. Bloody_ Vimpers_ always got to do the fun stuff.

* * *

Up on the bridge, the Captain was feeling rather chuffed. It looked like they might survive the day after all.

DRAMATIC IRONY ALERT!

The gunship was still circling in the distance as he brought the _Incredulous _around. It hadn't fully retreated, and was still just in range of their main cannon. The other fighter was arcing starboard for another strafing run on section blue.

The gunship was… worrying him, slightly. The K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki weren't known for their subtlety; they were known for being fucking homicidal space crabs. He'd expected the gunship to either get the hell out or try and take them down in a suicide run, not hang around on the edge of the fight. Except—

Suddenly, there was a spike on one of his screens, informing him that the ship had detected a matter transmission signal.

A signal, coming from the gunship.

Uh-oh. He looked down at the jump drive countdown.

Two minutes down.

Eight to go.

* * *

Kulkmann stood half-way between the main reactor and the pulse-gun station, looking back and forth between them nervously. He felt like he should be _doing_ something, but what? No sense in wasting energy.

He'd heard the Captain's transmission a moment earlier, telling Mackerel and Gaspard to leave their stations and transfer power to the lateral reactors. In Kulkmann's mind, it would be more efficient to have all the guns and shields and reactors controlled from a single room (i.e. the bridge) to remove the need for all this exhausting running around, but questioning the design sensibilities of the Grand Terran Navy (Space Exploration Division) was a road that led only to madness.

Suddenly, the lights began to flicker. An acrid smell filled the room, so sharp and electric that it felt like the air was punching him in the nostrils.

Kulkmann knew that smell.

It was not a herald of good news.

In fact, it was a herald of imminent alien invasion.

Kulkmann did not like that one bit.

He ducked under the nearest catwalk, just in time to see four angry-looking K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki commandos teleport into existence in the middle of the central engineering.

* * *

An incoming private radio connection pinged in the Captain's ear, just as Vimpers took another shot at the remaining fighter. He swiped his finger across the 'accept' button.

It was Kulkmann. He sounded absolutely fluffing terrified. _"Captain! A squad of K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki commandos just matter-transported into the reactor room!"_

"What?"

_"A squad of alien commandos is present in—"_

"Sorry, I heard you the first time. What's your position, Kulkmann?"

_"Hiding under a catwalk, sir!"_

"A fine display of self-preservation instincts. What're they doing?"

_"They appear to be going for the main reactor! One of them has some sort of bomb— oh, lord!"_

"What?"

_"One of them just fell into the reactor pit, sir! It's screaming like a banshee! Thrashing about like mad! The others are—"_

"One of them_ fell in_ to the pit?"

"_Yessir, it teleported into a rather awkward position._"

"Is it dead?"

"_Very much so! There's still three left, though."_

The Captain thought for a moment. The cryoshield fighter had another pass and raked the red section with bullets, taking out the shields. "Kulkmann, can you do anything to stop them?"

_"Not really… I'm a bit under-armed, sir. The commandos have quite large guns."_

"Well, are you safe? Well hidden?"

_"Relatively. It's not ideal, but I think I can survive for at least another minute."_

"Good. Genevieve and Gaspard will be there in slightly less than a minute, I'll tell them to get the battlebots fired up. Just keep hiding. And, Kulkmann…"

"_Yessir?"_

"I know it sometimes seems that this ship is an unstable, unreliable, unfriendly place that can, at any time, turn into an alien cocktail party, but…"

"_But what?"_

"…I'm sorry, Kulkmann, I forgot where I was going with that. Just stay safe. Help will be there soon." _And stop them blowing up my bloody reactor._

* * *

Genevieve tapped her foot irritably against the gravolift floor. It baffled her how it took to get between decks; it had to be, what, a twenty-metre distance? At most? But she was always stuck in the fancy bloody gravolift (a.k.a. a tiny claustrophobic cylinder of death) for at _least_ thirty seconds, which felt like an excruciatingly long time when your ship was under attack.

Especially when the Captain had just told you that there was a K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki death squad in the main reactor room.

The ship had two sets of battlebots for dealing with these so-called 'internal threats', but, somewhat inconveniently, the battlebots on _her_ side of the ship were on the upper deck – i.e. the deck she'd just left. On Gaspard's side, though, the battlebots were stored on the lower deck, so as soon as he got out of the lift he'd be able to activate them, run into central engineering and lay down some smackdown. Genevieve would grab a gun from the nearest locker and try to take them out from the other side.

That was the plan, anyway.

Genevieve had never laid much trust in plans. In her line of work, things went wrong so often that a plan, no matter how good it was, always seemed terrible in hindsight. But the Captain liked plans, since they made his mission reports easier to write, so… they had a plan.

Plan plan plan. 'Plan' was a funny word when you said it like that. Like 'hat', or 'spuriousness'.

_Ding!_

The gravolift doors hissed open, revealing section blue-low – a cavernous chamber lit by a couple of weak glowtubes. The walls curved with the outer hull of the ship, and were covered in pipes and battery packs and support beams. Green power cables surrounded the secondary rector in the middle of the room, dangling from the ceiling and snaking along the floor, part of the energy management network that kept the ship alive.

Genevieve ran quickly to the weapons station at the far end of the room. There were two consoles in the corner, one for the section's laser cannon and the other for the ship's missile tubes. There was also a locker below the consoles; she quickly typed in her crew code and the locker hissed open, revealing a deadly-looking plasma rifle.

It was also a _heavy_ plasma rifle. She grunted with effort as she hefted the thing up to her shoulder, feeling her finger on the trigger, aiming down the sight like a goddamned professional member of the Grand Terran Navy (Space Exploration Division). Genevieve couldn't hear any fighting through the bulkheads yet, so she crept over to the door to central engineering, ready to sneak forth for a quick look and—

The door opened automatically at her approach, completely ruining her awesome plan for a surprise attack. She ducked down and braced herself for a hail of incoming gunfire.

That would be coming any second now…

Aaaa-ny second…

* * *

The K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki, if you're going to be crude about it, are basically scorpions crossed with crabs crossed with an arachnophobe's worst nightmare – six segmented legs, chitinous shells, sharp pincers, two metres tall, more glowing red eyes than is strictly necessary. They walk by rotating their legs in complex patterns, seeming to _flow_ across the ground like a shadowy horror, and they talk in a series of clicks and screeches that seems explicitly designed to be menacing.

At this point, I was going to write a paragraph or so detailing K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki society, but after some thought I've decided against it. I don't want to make you too uncomfortable, after all, and really, all you need to know is: it's pretty bad.

Like, seriously. How stable is a society run by nightmare space-scorpions going to be, anyway?

* * *

After a few more moments of awkward silence, Genevieve sidled over to the open door and peeked around the corner.

Apparently, the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki commandos hadn't noticed her. They were all huddled around the main reactor looking vaguely suspicious; one was digging around in his pack for something with one serrated claw, another was peering down into the reactor pit, while the third was looking at the gravolift, gun held at the ready.

And there was Kulkmann, cowering under a catwalk near the back of the room. He gave her a nervous wave, his eyes wide; he looked a bit like an undercooked sausage, curled up tight in his red jumpsuit.

Genevieve waved back. She smiled and pointed at her quite large gun.

Then the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki began clicking at each other. One of them had something in its hand, a little black sphere, and was pressing buttons on its surface.

Kulkmann twitched. He pointed at the commandos, then mimed dropping something and shook his head.

Genevieve frowned. She hefted her gun and wondered how quickly she could—

The little black sphere splashed into the reactor pit.

And then the door on the other side of the room whooshed open.

Two chrome-skinned battle robots strode through, followed by a Frenchman in a bright green jumpsuit.

One of the robots opened its mouth, and screamed. It screamed, "FACE THE MUSIC, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!"

The K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki whipped around and raised their weapons.

Kulkmann screamed.

Stuff happened.

* * *

_BRRAAP!_

Two of the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki immediately split up, scrabbling in opposite directions, taking cover behind nearby pillars. The third opened fire with its multi-barrelled cannon and sprayed the room with crackling blue lasers.

The robots moved forward with suitably robotic efficiency. Shots sparked off their armour as they returned fire. Wrist-mounted blasters were aimed with pin-point accuracy, pinning down the commandos, criss-crossing the room with deadly energy. Smoke filled the air. An alarm went off somewhere. Genevieve thought she should probably start shooting, so she did. The gun buzzed in her hands. Across the room, Gaspard slid into cover like a boss and started shooting as well. She noticed that she wasn't really hitting anything and adjusted her aim, pointing the gun lower at the closest commando who hadn't yet noticed her behind them—

She got it in the back with a couple of shots and the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki was thrown to the ground. But its armour absorbed most of the energy and it got up a second later, saw her standing in the doorway.

Genevieve ducked back round the corner just as a vicious stream of plasma sizzled past her face. It hit the far wall and sketched a name in red-hot metal. She winced, felt her singed eyebrows, stuck the gun out and blind-fired in the general direction of the alien.

"Mackerel! You are a very beautiful woman, but you should watch where you shoot!" Gaspard shouted.

"Sorry!" She took another peek around the corner, and promptly stopped peeking as another blast of energy ricocheted off a nearby bulkhead. The commando seemed to have taken a special interest in shooting and/or killing her.

Not good.

"AHA! GOT YOU, ALIEN SCUM!" One of the battlebots shouted in triumph as it took out the central commando. The K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki twitched as it lay on the floor, bleeding green, its armour shattered and smoking. Another of the attackers scuttled sideways and hit the bot with a couple of bursts. It recoiled and returned fire with a vengeance.

Shadows flashed red and blue. Fireworks burned themselves into her retinas. The air smelled burnt. Genevieve hardly knew what was happening; there were the two bots on one side of the room, the two aliens firing back from near the gravolift, Gaspard crouched down near Kulkmann on the catwalk, and the big green reactor pit in the middle of it all, humming and spinning. She lifted the gun up and aimed down the sight, and shot at another of the commandos.

It was close. The bolt splashed against a nearby railing and the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki was scared out of cover. Another of the battlebots took its chance and shot it right in the face.

Alien blood and muscle splattered the catwalk. The commando collapsed to the ground.

One left.

The three bots began advancing on the last commando, their feet clanking on the metal floor as they loped across the room. The alien was huddled behind a cluster of pipes and shooting madly at everything it could see.

Luckily, this did not include Genevieve. It did, however, include the robots.

BAM!

A shotgun-blast of energy stabbed one of the bots right in the face. Its head was blown clean off, clattering into a corner; the body kept going for a moment before locking up and skidding along the ground. The other bot took this as an invitation to hit the deck and it took cover for a moment, venting steam.

There was a brief pause in the firefight. For a moment, the air wasn't filled with deadly multi-coloured light.

Then the commando threw a grenade at Gaspard and Kulkmann. It was a mean-looking grenade, a big one. A room-clearing grenade.

Genevieve's eyes widened. "Gaspard! There's a gre—"

"I see it, Mackerel! I see it!" The Frenchman sprang to his feet. In a reversal of what most sane people would do, he sprinted _towards_ the grenade, legs pumping, and swung around for a kick…

Foot met ball in classic style. The grenade arced across the room and clanked off the wall and bounced into the gravolift at the far end. Gaspard raised his gun and sprayed the gravolift controls with fire, burning them out, making the lift doors swoosh shut with the overload.

A muffled _crump_. The doors buckled, but held.

And then, full of divine purpose, he vaulted over a railing and dived towards the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki. The commando started shooting but Gaspard was going too fast, was just too awesome. He dodged the bolts and fired some of his own, one handed, gangster-style, hit the commando full in the chest. Then Gaspard was there, right in front of it, and he leapt up and kicked the alien in the face.

In the _face._

His bright green boots connected with a _crack. _The K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki screeched and keeled over, its gun flying from its claws.

Gaspard turned away, closed his eyes delicately...

...and shot it dead.

The world stood still for a moment.

Blood.

Smoke.

Distant alarms, buzzing softly.

Then Genevieve coughed, half with relief and half with laughter. She let her gun clatter to the floor. "Gaspard," she murmured. "That was insane. Insane, but… _amazing."_

"Thank you my dear," he replied, turning to face her, still breathing heavily. "It was but - but a trifling improvisation—"

Suddenly, another battlebot appeared in the doorway. It was shiny, undamaged, and looked around the room with curious eyes, taking in the smoke and the impacts and the splattered corpses.

"Hello, fly droppings," it said eventually. "Am I late?"

Gaspard's remaining bot turned to face the new arrival. "_You,_" it said acidly. "You've been avoiding me."

"That I have," the new bot agreed.

"And you _are_ late. Twenty-one-point-two."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said you'd be here in twenty seconds. You were here in twenty-one-point-two."

"Ah, thank you." The new bot smiled warmly. "I had a bet with myself that I'd have you counting down the seconds to my arrival."

The other bot was quiet. Then it began vibrating, furiously quick, like it was literally shaking with dumb rage.

"Fuck you!" it screeched at last, and leapt through the doorway so quickly that it seemed to disappear. The noise of it clanging and clanking away echoed through the ship.

Genevieve and Gaspard exchanged a worried glance.

"My, my, you people are _useless_," the new bot said neutrally. "Look at all this _damage_. It all has to be cleaned, you know. It all has to be cleaned. By me."

Silence, for a moment.

"By ME."

Further silence, which was rudely interrupted by the ship's intercom. _"Hey! You idiots down in engineering!_" the Captain barked. "_Are you dead or something? I need you to get back up here and start manning your GUNS! And don't forget to refill those lateral reactors, because otherwise you won't be able to shoot and you won't have shields and we'll all die. So refill the reactors! And get up here! Because bad stuff is happening, and I need more people shooting at it! If only I had a competent gunner instead of goddamn Vim— oh, good shot, Vimpers! Excellent!" _

Genevieve shook her head. "That man speaks in nothing but exclamation marks sometimes."

"That he does," Gaspard replied. "Reactors?"

"Reactors. Kulkmann?"

"…Yes?"

"Get out of your goddamn hidey-hold and help us. You're gonna need to dump some more fuel in."

"Okay. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Battlebots?"

There was no reply.

"Battlebots?" Genevieve looked around the battered central reactor chamber, but the bots – old and new – were nowhere to be seen (except the headless one, which was still splayed out on the floor). "Oh, who cares, they're basically useless anyway. Let's just survive this thing. Agreed?"

"Agreed times two."

"Agreed to the power of _infinity_."

They wiped the alien gunk off their boots and trudged off to the nearest reactor. Five minutes down, five to go.

* * *

In the depths of the nearby gas giant, something… stirred. A shadow, sweeping through the atmosphere. A whisper in the interstellar darkness. A tentacle whipping through alien cloud, a beak stretching for the stars…

Basically, I've got three words for you.

SPACE!

OCTOPUS!

ATTACK!


	3. Nemesis!

_Author's Note: So, this chapter was a bit of a pain to get done – because once you've used up all that initial enthusiasm and flood of ideas, you have to get on with the business of actually writing a coherent (and preferably interesting and exciting) narrative, which is HARDER THAN IT SOUNDS. And as well as _writing_, you have to worry about planning and continuity and (ugh) endings._

_That's actually one of the weird things about fanfiction – when you're publishing a story chapter by chapter, it's really in a 'first draft' state. It's hard to change course if you don't like your earlier chapters, and it's hard to see how a story is taking shape as a whole. It also means that stories will (usually) be of lower quality than a published novel, which has been edited and proofread a dozen times over. That doesn't stop many of the stories on here from being absolutely awesome, of course, but it _is_ one of the quirks of the format._

_Anyway, that's just a long-winded way of saying that this chapter didn't turn out how I wanted it to, but I can't quite be bothered fixing it at the moment. I still think it's pretty good though – and hey, there's only two chapters to go. Next on the schedule is bashing out some Super 8 stuff in between a truckload of physics assignments. Fun!_

* * *

**Nemesis!**

People often asked _why_ they did it.

Why risk your life in a sector far from home? Why spend your days jumping light-years into the dark, where anything could be waiting, ready to strike? The Space Exploration Service was a hard line of work, and dangerous too – which wasn't admitted publicly, of course, but the mortality figures said it all. (Well, technically they didn't say it ALL, but they certainly said _enough_ to make things a bit suspicious).

But there were reasons enough to join the SES. You were paid well; the hours were short. Many people liked that sense of discovery that came from being on the frontiers of space. And for other people, a job was just a job. A lot of the time it was simply routine.

A more important question was…

…what makes you come back?

To be fair, none of the _Incredulous' _crew were asking this question as they ran through the metal innards of their ship. They were too busy asking other questions, like 'didwejustgethitbyamissile?' and 'whyamIsweatingwhenit'sactuallysogoddamnedcoldinhe re?'

But what _does_ make you come back? Is there some hidden strength that keeps you sane in the face of death, that lets you beat the slimmest of odds… that makes you fight to stay alive? There's survival instinct, sure, but raw reflexes will only get you so far.

For the Captain, it was children. Two children, sunshine, and laughter in the grass.

For Kulkmann, it was friends. Late nights, smoky tables, a dismal hand of cards.

For Gaspard, it was regret. Freckles and a smile, lost in the dark.

For Vimpers, it was the universe. The stories, the people, their star-spanning world.

Only Genevieve didn't really have anything – though she was writing a book in her spare time, and she supposed it would be nice to get that finished one day.

Emotional engagement, that was the thing. The stuff that makes you care.

* * *

_They sat together in the grass, their backs to a hillside, surrounded by the smells of dew and dirt and rain. By the banks of the river below, two children were playing in the shallows – a girl and boy, maybe ten, eleven years old, splashing and shouting as they tried to swim against the current. All around, the artificial landscape of the orbital plate curved up towards the sky._

_"Beautiful, aren't they," she murmured._

_The Captain nodded. "I wish I could… look after them more. Be there for them. But…"_

_"But what?"_

_"Work. You know."_

_"I know." The woman smiled ruefully. She was pretty, in a distinctive sort of way, and her auburn hair glowed in the sunlight. "So, how's things?"_

_"Good. Great, actually."_

_"Yeah?"_

_"I'm transferring to a frontier sector next month."_

_The woman chuckled. "Wow. So you finally got there."_

_"That I did."_

_"Congratulations, Captain Maurice Vlaada Hammer." She paused. "I guess that means you'll be away for a while."_

_"Well… a couple of months, maybe more. Should be interesting, though."_

_"Interesting. Ha. That's one word for it."_

_They were silent for a moment, enjoying the sunshine. Puffs of cloud curled against blue. A flock of birds wheeled overhead. The boy pushed the girl into the water and she came up spluttering and splashing and laughing._

_"We had a chance, you know," she said suddenly._

_"I know," he answered._

_"I wish that this… that this all worked out."_

_"So do I. With all my heart."_

_Two children danced in the sunshine. They looked so _happy_, so innocent, and he wasn't sure whether to smile or cry._

* * *

Genevieve burst out of the gravolift, Gaspard in tow, and suddenly found herself in a world of amber-flashing lights and buzzing electronics. Something was very, very wrong; klaxons blared from the ceiling, throwing the bridge into bands of light and dark while proximity alerts echoed from the speakers. Steam hissed in the air-vents. The viewscreens were all focused on some blurry, shadowy shape in front of the nearby gas giant.

And the Captain was standing up – standing, next to his cocoon of a chair, a vein half-way to popping on his forehead (it was, all things considered, a worryingly-good impression of Nicholas Cage in _The Wickerman_)_. _"What were you _doing_ down there?!" he asked as they entered, an air of desperation in his voice.

"Shooting things, sir!"

"Well, could you shoot things… less? Because I've got fire alarms going off, I've got an energy leak in plate number three, and the computer keeps shouting at me about unauthorised plasma discharges, so – defend the ship, by all means, but try and keep it civil."

"Okay sir, will do. Quick question: has a battlebot ever gone rogue?"

"Hm?" The Captain blinked.

"Has a battlebot ever… turned on the crew?"

What a silly question! Moving on!"

"But I think—"

"Moving on!" He pointed at the biggest viewscreen. "Does that not look like a space octopus to you?"

Genevieve looked.

It did look like a space octopus to her.

"Merde," Gaspard breathed. "Une pieuvre interstellaire!"

"Yes, Gaspard, it is an interstellar pee-ooo-ver and I shall pardon your French just this once."

"Where did it come from?" Genevieve asked.

"From inside the gas gi— oh, what does it matter? It came sweeping out of the atmosphere and it's heading straight for us!"

"Are you sure it's not just… having a stretch?"

"Yes, I'm sure! The computer's even assigned it a threat rating!"

"What's the rating?"

"'Serious', apparently! It's—" The Captain stopped, shook his head. "Enough talk; all we ever do is talk. Both of you, get to your stations, because I have no idea how to take this thing down and I need some help."

"Shoot it a lot?" Genevieve suggested.

"The thought had crossed my mind, yes, but we're going to need to keep careful watch on the sensors and coordinate out fire. If Kulkmann…" He trailed off, and flopped down into his seat. "If Kulkmann… Ugh. What goddamn system has moon-sized octopi just floating around? What kind of crazy universe IS THIS?"

"Well, sir, I wouldn't say it's quite _moon-sized_. We should try and look at the positives—"

"Genevieve! Shut up!"

* * *

Genevieve pulled on the comms channel headphones. Gaspard ran through damage calculations. The Captain just stared uneasily at the main viewscreen, upon which the image of the octopus was splayed like some ungodly Rorsharch test. It was currently splooshing – that was the only word the Captain could think of to describe that slow, disgusting undulation – _splooshing _its way towards the _Incredulous_, spinning lazily in zero-g.

Tentacles, hundreds of metres long. Suckers the size of a shuttle. A bulbous body, bathed in distant sunlight, glistening orange and purple. He recalled that thin slice of horror that he'd felt when he first saw it emerge from the gas giant, dragging puffs of atmosphere with it like drops of frozen water, its fat, razor-sharp beak gaping at the stars.

He'd diverted one of the probes towards it immediately, of course, which was currently following the gigantic beast at a so-called 'safe distance' and beaming these wonderful camera images to his screens. The thing had seemingly locked on to the _Incredulous'_ signature, and was following them despite theirbest efforts at running the hell away.

"I mean, is it even an octopus at this point?" the Captain murmured to himself. "It breathes vacuum energy instead of air and it's fucking enormous and it doesn't live in an ocean…"

Suddenly, Vimpers walked in through the red section door, looking fairly pleased with himself.

"Shields recharged?" the Captain asked.

"Recharged. Got the last fighter, too, smacked it right in the cockpit. Exploded in a beautiful little fireball, if I do say so myself."

"Mmm, I saw."

"Just the gunship left, and I don't think it's gonna come near us any time soon– what is that?" Vimpers pointed at the screen.

"Guess."

"It looks like a – an octopus. A space octopus!"

"The computer calls it 'unknown predatory organism'. But yes, 'space octopus.'" The Captain smiled. "How does it feel to have discovered a new space-dwelling species, Vimpers? Think of all that wonderful science!"

"Is it – is it _attacking _us!?"

"I think so, yes."

"You _think_ so? WELL WHAT ARE WE GOING TO—"

"Gaspard and I were just discussing that. We're either going to have to hit it in a weak spot or triple-gun it, which needs a bit of planning—"

"Captain!" Genevieve looked up from her comms station. "I'm reading jump signatures from in-system. A big one. On the other side of the asteroid belt."

He felt his heart skip a beat. "How big?"

"I…" She flicked through a couple of menus. "Scientifically, I would say 'gigantonormous.' Wait – one more fighter just jumped in. Another K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki."

"Fine, we can deal with that." The Captain looked around the bridge, ignoring the still-flashing sirens. "Vimpers, Gaspard, if you get on the lateral guns we can take it out early."

"Captain!" Genevieve interrupted.

"Mmm?"

"The gunship's coming around!"

The Captain blinked. "I thought it was retreating?"

"Not anymore! In fact, it's accelerating! I think it's preparing for a suicide run!"

"Argh! Okay, Vimpers, Gaspard, take—"

"And I just got an alert from Kulkmann, he says there's an issue with the main reactor!"

"What kind of issue? Like, a deadly one, or just—"

"Another fighter too, sir! Myrmidon-class!"

"Just jumped in?"

"Yes, sir! My god, sir, I'm getting alerts everywhere! It's like there's an ant colony partying on my screen! The octopus is getting quite close, it's within firing range!"

"Shit! Shitting crikey!"

"Another fighter, Captain!"

"What?"

"Another fighter! A third one!"

"_WHAT?!"_

"And we're getting a signal from the first fighter! Yes, secure comms! An alien fugitive known only as 'the rapist' requests permission to come aboard!"

"Mmm, permission deni—"

"He's coming aboard anyway, sir!

"SPACE TITS!"

"And the last jump signature just collapsed! It's… it's a Nemesis cruiser, coming straight towards us!"

"A Nemesis? A real-life _Nemesis_?"

"Heading straight at us! It's quite big! It has a lot of guns and it seems quite ready to shoot them!"

"A lot of guns?"

"A lot, sir! About nine! Brace for impact!"

"Brace for _wha—"_

_THUD!_

A blinding flash. The deck shuddered, jerked sideways. Sparks showered from the ceiling. Everyone ducked, gripped their armrests as beams of spinning tachyons slashed across their shields. "Goddamnit! Was that the Nemesis?"

"Affirmative!"

"Okay, we need to take that thing down as quickly as possible. If—"

Another hit. More sparks, glass shattering somewhere. Impacts rolled through the ship, groaning and rumbling.

The Captain winced. "We okay?"

"Shields at sixty percent, still holding! Just!" Vimpers announced.

"Good. Now, everyone just—"

"Fighters coming through!" Genevieve shouted.

There was a staccato of distant thumps as the enemy ships swept past, plasma stabbing from their guns. Shields flared purple against the hull.

"Argh! Damn! Everyone, just – just be quiet for a second! Every time somebody opens their mouth bad news comes out and _I AM HONESTLY TIRED OF IT!_"

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the piercing scream of a dozen synchronised alarms.

The Captain thought.

"Okay," he said slowly. "Ooo-kaayyy. The thing about the Nemesis is that it has lots of guns but very few shields, so it is a ship designed—"

Another hit. Energy warnings flashed on the screens.

"—designed to get up close and kill you as quickly as possible. If we can hit it a few times before it hits us, we may be able to hold it off."

"…What about the pieuvre?" Gaspard asked.

"We will ignore the pee-oo-ver until we have some spare guns to shoot it with. Now, I want Vimpers and Genevieve manning the guns on the flanks and synchronising fire. Prioritise the Nemesis cruiser and punch through its armour, and remember to watch your section shields. I will stay here with the main cannon, and try and steer this tub towards some semblance of safety. Kulkmann will attempt to coordinate energy reactor levels from down below, but he's going to be busy, so be prepared to help if need be. And Gaspard, you launch the interceptors and keep those fighters off us. If we're good with our timing, real good, we might be able to land a few concentrated bursts of fire on both the bastards, and if we use the asteroid field for cover, the Nemesis'll have trouble following and the octopus might even decide to attack something else. Oh, and I guess we should shoot down that kamikaze gunship at some point. Does everyone agree in principle with this plan?"

"Sure."

"Oui."

"Yessir."

The Captain smiled grimly. "Good. It's not brilliant, but it's better than sitting around and getting shot." He paused. "Then again, most things are. So just don't fuck it up, is what I'm saying."

Everyone nodded.

"Well, what are we waiting for? GO GO GO GO GO!"

* * *

Gaspard sprinted around the corner and into the _Incredulous_' launch bay – a small boxy hangar embedded into the left side of the ship. Three light interceptors were mounted in the middle of the room, sitting lifelessly on circular pads, pointed at the airlock door on the other side. The fighters were perhaps eight metres long, painted smooth grey with orange stripes; they had rounded noses and swept-back wings, and two jutting tailfins.

He ran to the central interceptor and vaulted onto its pad, punched in the quick-launch code. The cockpit windshield hissed open and he clambered up onto the wing, taking a second to heave his legs over the side, then dropped down into the pilot's seat with a soft _thud_. Then, suddenly, the windshield swung shut and he found himself surrounded by dark silence and cold, cramped metal.

But Gaspard found this comforting.

This was his element, you see (backstory alert!). From his first aero-races as a young teen, to his years flying express shuttles for extreme-sports tourists, to his entry into the academy and newfound love of military tech, he was a pilot at heart and always had been. The tight embrace of a high-g chair, the thrill of the chase through billowing cloud, the joy of going so very very fast and pulling off tricks you thought were impossible…

Screens and LEDs came to life, enveloping the cockpit in an antiseptic glow. The engines began warming up, rumbling and flickering, sparking the fuel inside. For guns he had a laser cannon on each wingtip with a missile launcher underneath, spooled up and ready to go.

And then the hangar airlock began to open. He gripped the flight stick, felt his feet hug the pedals. Warning sirens flashed yellow and red. The thick doors slid aside with a _clunk_, revealing a deep black starfield. Air rushed out through the opening. Thrusters fired and the ship rose off its pad, tilted forward a little.

He held the ship there for a moment, floating in space, then jammed the throttle forward as far as it would go. Blue flame splashed against the wall of the hangar.

Speed.

The interceptor burst out into space like a ten-ton bullet – followed by the other two interceptors half a second later, bound to his own ship by their flight AIs. G-forces pressed him back into the seat, pushed against his chest. The _Incredulous_ shot into the distance behind them. Seen from the cockpit, the universe was just a blur of shuddering, jittering stars, stretched to vanishing point.

Slowly, Gaspard felt himself grin.

The hull vibrated. Engines burned. At 800m/s, he let off the acceleration and began curving back around to the _Incredulous_. He could see the gas giant in his periphery, an immense green ball surrounded by tiny, rocky moons; the asteroid belt lay just beyond it, a thick smudge on the spatial horizon. Red dots started to appear on his targeting radar, overlaid on his cockpit displays. The other two interceptors stayed a couple of lengths behind in strict formation, bobbing and weaving.

And then, he saw it.

The battlefield.

The _Incredulous _itself was about ten kilometres away, slightly below him – and it was being attacked from all directions. K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki fighters swarmed in complex spirals, trailing dust and debris. The mortally-wounded gunship was swooping in from the west as the octopus glided up from below, cold and alien and relentless. Shots stabbed back and forth through the void as molten metal sprayed like pus from a blister.

And there was the Nemesis, approaching from galactic north. It was big and beetle-shaped, half a mile long, with a segmented body and sinister red highlights. Cannons sprouted from beneath pockmarked armour, running down the cruiser's sides like spindly metal legs. The thing had turned broadside and suddenly a latticework of piercing blue beams leapt from its guns, slashing through space around the _Incredulous_, many of them missing, one of them scoring a hit. Shields sparked with sudden impacts. The smaller ship fired back, purple bolts lancing out and smashing the Nemesis' side. A million volts of electricity crackled and burned.

Gaspard smiled grimly. Then he punched the throttle forwards and swooped down towards the battlefield.

* * *

"_You ready?"_

"I was born ready."

"_Damnit, John, sometimes you say things that make me want to hit you. Okay. Three, two, one—"_

BLAM!

Twin blue laser pulses lashed out at the distant Nemesis. The first dissipated on the ship's e-shield; the second got through and cut a deep gash in its armour.

_"Yeah! Woooo! Got that sucker!"_

"Define 'got', Mackerel."

_"'Uh: we hit it?"_

"Well, we've hit it three times now, but we appear nowhere near to 'getting it'. The thing's just so big that out guns can't damage it."

_"That's a glass-half-empty view of things – incoming! Brace for contact!"_

Inside his cradle of a gunner's station, Vimpers braced for contact.

The ship rumbled.

"I'm being realistic," Vimpers replied, once the tremors had passed.

"_Cynical's more like it. How are your shields doing?"_

"Thirty percent. You?"

"_Thirty-five. Your guns ready?"_

"Yep."

"_Good. Three, two one—"_

BLAM! He pulled the trigger. Red lines criss-crossed his targeting screen. Fighters wheeled away on escape trajectories as blast shockwaves expanded through space.

"It's funny," Vimpers mused as he watched the chaos on the screen. "Big ships, small ships, thin men, fat men, they all respond the same to a laser blast in the face. Physics just loves equality"

"_If we're being pedantic, I don't think that's entirely true – brace for contact!"_

"What, again?"

"_Yes! Wait, the – the Captain's trying to steer us away! Hold onto someth—"_

Vimpers was thrown sideways as the ship banked hard and his shoulder slammed into the bulkhead. There was another impact, a big one, and a tinge of smoke filled the air. "What was that?!"

"_Fighter just loosed a missile at section blue!"_

"That's my section!"

"_I know! You okay?"_

"If by 'okay' you mean 'alive', sure."

"_Don't be snarky with me! Urgghh, we really need Kulkmann on that pulse gun to deal with the fighters… wait. There's Gaspard!"_

"Gaspard?" Vimpers heaved himself back into his chair, looked at his screen. A trio of green arrows had appeared in the middle of the grid and was pursuing the leading K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki fighter; the other two fighters had peeled off from the attack and turned to face the new threat. "About time, I guess. And he does so enjoy being the hero."

"_I'm more than happy to let him if it keeps us alive. Your guns ready?"_

Vimpers checked his readings. "Uh… no."

_"What?"_

"Shit, I think the reactor's empty. I'm getting a warning from lower blue." He tried pulling the trigger just in case, and received an empty clicking noise in return.

"_How're your shields?"_

"Non-existent. Did you even have to ask?"

"_Okay. Well, I'm going to keep shooting_—"

There was a distant _blam! _from the other side of the ship.

_"—but you go and do what you have to."_

"I will, Mackerel. Don't you worry about that." He stowed the triggers and swung out of the gunner's seat, taking the opportunity to stretch—

_Thunk! _His head smashed into the compartment ceiling and pain speared through his skull. There was a brief moment of spectacular cursing.

"You would've thought space battles would be exciting, you know?" Vimpers muttered to himself. "But it's just sitting in a chair and pulling a trigger and sometimes hitting your FUCKING head on things. And then you feel afraid for a bit, and something explodes – which is nice, I guess – and then you jump back into some sterile goddamn hangar like nothing's changed."

Blood trickled from where he'd bitten his cheek. He sighed, and stumbled onward towards the gravolift. "Well, I hope the Frenchman's having fun."

* * *

Three K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki fighters were clustered around the _Incredulous_, strafing her shields with fire as she fled towards the asteroid field. They were flat, ugly things, with green bodies and crescent-shaped wings, so Gaspard put the closest one in his sights and punched the afterburners.

The stars blurred. He locked on with his guns. The fighter pulled back, began turning around.

Closer, closer…

And in range.

PEW PEW PEW PEW PEW! A solid stream of laser fire jumped from his ship to the enemy's, sparking off its shields. The fighter jerked to the side and then Gaspard was arrowing past, too fast to follow. Radio signals flashed back and forth through space and suddenly the other two fighters changed course, arcing towards the new threat.

Gaspard let off the speed a little and watched the three red dots on his radar. They slingshotted past the _Incredulous_, racing after him, gaining quickly. The lead fighter pulled ahead with thrusters flaring and lock-on warnings flashed on his HUD. He thought that he could see their reflections on his cockpit window, tiny and bright and very, very angry.

"And so… let the cosmic dance dance begin."

ZZAAAP!

A torrent of plasma crackled past the wing, courtesy of the enemy interceptors. He jinked the stick to the side and activated his fighter's PA system in one smooth motion.

_WHEN THE WORLD LEAVES YOU FEELING BLUE_

_YOU CAN COUNT ON ME, I WILL BE THERE FOR YOU_

_WHEN IT SEEMS, ALL YOUR HOPES AND DREAMS_

_ARE A MILLION MILES AWAY, I WILL REASSURE YOU!_

Ice-cold – ICE COLD – European techno started blasting out of the speakers and Gaspard was enveloped in smooth, smooth bass. G-forces pressed him into his seat as he pulled to starboard. Bolt after bolt slashed through space from the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki fighters, blue, red, blue, red, almost clipping his hull – and then the two friendly AI fighters came swooping in from behind, scattering the enemy with a couple of precision bursts.

Gaspard slammed on the brakes and his ship skidded to a stop ('skidded' being a metaphorical term, given that that he was floating in a black, airless void. But I digress!) The other fighters screamed past him and he fired a missile at the nearest; it rolled away but the missile kept on its tail and suddenly a cloud of flame exploded from its engines. The fighter jerked around wildly, flames trailing from its wings, before exploding in a sudden burst of light.

_WE'VE GOT TO STICK TOGETHER_

_GOOD FRIENDS, THERE FOR EACH OTHER_

_NEVER EVER FORGET THAT_

_I'VE GOT YOU AND YOU'VE GOT ME, SO—_

Shockwaves expanded through space, beautiful and blue. He winced as a bolt suddenly thumped into his rear shields; one of the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki had looped around. Then, a lock-on warning. He glanced at the screen, saw a hostile missile track arcing towards him. He dumped some chaff, punched the 'burners._ BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! _He shot past the_Incredulous_ again, which was still firing solidly at the distant Nemesis – but there were a couple of ugly impact craters in its hull, and it was venting gas from the lower plates. _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! _The missile was still following, gaining; he dumped more chaff and finally the missile disappeared in a cloud of debris. He shielded his eyes as a couple of bright blue beams lanced past in front of him. A voice in his ear informed that one of his friendlies had been shot down.

Another voice in his ear told him about dreams.

_REACH FOR THE STARS_

_CLIMB EVERY MOUNTAIN HIGHER_

_REACH FOR THE STARS_

_FOLLOW YOUR HEART'S DESIRE_

A fighter streaked across his view and he banked hard to follow it. It was green, with a long body that glinted in the sunlight, and its hull-mounted laser cannons were blazing hard at the remaining AI fighter.

Gaspard fired and was gratified to see a couple of shots eat through its shields, scorch its wings. It started dancing around, left-right-left-right, flickering across his screens. He aimed carefully and fired again. And again. And—

They entered a dustcloud just as a couple more shots thumped into the shields. Suddenly, the world was just an indistinct mass of brown. Engines twinkled, lighting up great swathes of ultra-fine dust and gas. The fighters dipped in and out of visibility – just silhouettes in the darkness, occasionally bursting forth to rake each other's flanks with low power fire. More plasma beams came lancing through the clouds, crackling blue.

Gaspard squinted, looking for the enemy fighters – they'd lost him, and he'd lost them, and radar was almost useless in this kind of environment. Shadows, just dust and shadows.

_REACH FOR THE STARS_

_AND WHEN THAT RAINBOW'S SHINING OVER YOU_

_THAT'S WHEN YOUR DREAMS WILL AAAALLLLLLLLL_

_COME TRUE!_

And then they burst out of the cloud and into empty space again. Crackling energy criss-crossed the void. Plasma blasts scorched against armour. Just up ahead, the asteroid belt loomed – a million-kilometre band of grey and cratered rock, impacting soundlessly, tumbling through space. Gaspard saw his remaining AI fighter swing in behind the wounded K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki and take it out with a surprise burst, just as a beam from the Nemesis slashed it right in half.

_THERE'S A PLACE WAITING JUST FOR YOU_

_IS A SPECIAL PLACE WHERE YOUR DREAMS ALL COME TRUE_

_FLY AWAY, SWIM THE OCEAN BLUE_

_DRIVE THAT OPEN ROAD, LEAVE THE PAST BEHIND YOU_

Metal and plasma fell into the void. It was just him left; just him and one enemy fighter.

And the Nemesis.

And the octopus.

And – the gunship? It was still approaching on its mad suicide run and getting worryingly close. The _Incredulous_ was shooting back as hard as she could, but there just weren't enough guns to kill everything coming towards her (or rather, she didn't have enough _people_ to shoot the guns to kill everything coming towards her, which seemed like an unfortunate resourcing decision in these sorts of situations). Regardless, the squat little ship was taking a beating, so Gaspard turned round and put the gunship in his sights.

The octopus passed beneath him, only a couple of kilometres away.

_DON'T STOP, GOTTA KEEP MOVING_

_YOUR HOPE HAVE GOTTA KEEP BUILDING_

_NEVER EVER FORGET THAT_

_I'VE GOT YOU AND YOU'VE GOT ME, SO—_

The gunship loomed large in his view, spiky and bulbous, crippled beyond repair by the immense hole in its left flank. Some of its turrets tried to track him as he approached but he dived below to avoid their view – and swept along the shadowy underside of the ship. Antennas and airlocks and armour blurred past and he strafed it all with his cannons. The ship ended and he shot out behind it, just beneath the engines.

In the distance, the _Incredulous_ had almost reached the asteroid field –

screaming towards it as fast as she dared, guns red-hot, pursued by a rather unfair amount of hostility. Gaspard looped up and around and strafed the gunship again, dumped a missile into its flank. He rolled to avoid a couple of stray bolts, and then…

_REACH FOR THE STARS_

_CLIMB EVERY MOUNTAIN HIGHER_

A shockwave from somewhere behind him; he felt it lift the fighter with godly fingers and _hurl_ the ship forward.

_REACH FOR THE STARS_

_FOLLOW YOUR HEART'S DESIRE_

He tumbled end over end, his view spinning wildly, straps digging into his shoulders. Screens scrambled and flickered, overcome with static. Blinding light expanded past his nose.

_AND WHEN THAT RAINBOW'S SHINING OVER YOU_

Gaspard chuckled. All of those spinning laser bolts did look a bit like a rainbow.

_THAT'S WHEN YOUR DREAMS WILL ALL COME TRUE!_

* * *

_It was a pre-recorded message. He played it every night before he slept._

_"This might be goodbye, you know. They're not sure if it'll work, or where we'll come out. It probably won't, I guess. I mean, they're still not sure what happened – if there was someone there, or it was some energy surge or something, or just a simple malfunction. There still not sure HOW it happened. But – we're here now. This is reality. And… there's a chance."_

_There had been some problem with their jump drive, apparently. Some problem that had left one little passenger cruiser stranded in intergalactic space, with a very slim chance of getting home._

_"There are – there are so many things I wish I could say, but… all I can think about is how _weird _it is. Just a simple Christmas visit, and it goes so completely fucking wrong." She half-laughed, half-sighed. "And I guess I'm going to know all the people on this shuttle pretty god-damn well by the end of this."_

_Her clothes were torn and dirty, and the room was scorched and buckled. But her eyes were clear, clear and blue, staring out at him from the screen's liquid pixels._

_There was a soul in those eyes._

_A soul, lost, stolen by random chance. Imprisoned by distances too vast to imagine._

_"Remember that time, we danced in the forest?"_

_He did._

_"And all the fireflies were flying overhead? And later, on the cliff… it was just you and me. God, I can still feel your arms around me, even now. And right then, at that moment… I felt like we could just float off into space. Together. Forever."_

_She laughed bitterly._

_"Poor choice of words, perhaps. But—"_

_Indistinct voices. She whirled around for a second, listening._

_"—okay, I think we're going. Sorry I can't say more, but I hope you get this message, somehow. Somewhere. And remember… we'll be out there. We might not be lost. There's a chance we will find our way home." She smiled._

_"Otherwise, you'll just have to come and find me."_

* * *

In the humming depths of the _Incredulous_, Kulkmann was having, as usual, a mild panic attack. They'd been in scrapes before, of course –being in scrapes was almost _routine_ – but not like this. This was bad. What was a Nemesis cruiser even _doing_ out here? Was it lost? Had they stumbled onto a secret military staging ground? And how did that octopus… THING even exist? What did something like that _eat?_ How did it reproduce? Were there lots of them just – just _hanging _around to devour passing cargo shuttles? And to top it off, the main reactor was only running at two-thirds capacity, since the little bomb that the K'vhaah'kilahkilahkilahki commandos had dropped inside had overloaded the power circuitry. Two- thirds capacity was NOT ideal right now, when every person on the ship was attempting to shoot and recharge shields at the same time, and it was being drained faster than he could fill it. Not good. Not good. Of _course_ it was almost empty again. He heaved another fuel canister into the pit, watched the plasma flare up.

There weren't that many canisters left, actually, since you weren't meant to use that much fuel on a ten-minute survey mission (come to think of it, what was the time? It felt like he'd been running around down here for _ever_). There was an energy warning from section blue, another empty reactor, so he ran along the catwalk and through the door to the blue-side engineering bay.

To his surprise, someone was already standing there next to the reactor controls – Vimpers, in his purple jumpsuit. It looked like he knew what he was doing, so Kulkmann ran back the other way, ducking a couple of hanging cables. He glanced out the lower viewports as he passed, and—

TENTACLES.

Kulkmann froze. He could _see_ the octopus through the window.

Seeing things in space was bad. Seeing things meant you were probably too close to said thing, especially when said thing was a gigantic octopus.

It floated in the background like a shadowy starfish, the body clearly visible, covered in a thin layer of frost.

A fighter zoomed past the window, insanely close. Lasers flashed and bathed his face in colour. He shivered as he imagined those tentacles wrapping around the hull, and wracked his brain for some idea, some _way_ of…

Rockets! That was it. He whirled around and ran to the back of the engineering bay to where the missile launch controls stood. He hammered in his codes, fumbling in panic.

There was a bit of an art to figuring out what a rocket was going to hit, Kulkmann knew, given the delay in travel time and the rocket's automatic targeting systems. In fact, it was sometimes a good idea to launch a rocket in a quiet moment, just in case – sometimes this ended up saving the entire ship, and you could claim you knew what you were doing all along.

So he launched one.

_Shoom!_

And then, for good measure, he launched four more. Outside the ship, five miniature fusion warheads dropped from the missile bay and ignited, arrowing off into space.

Targeting information began scrolling down Kulkmann's screen. He watched it for a moment, mesmerised, then was pulled back to his senses by another energy warning – section red, this time. He picked himself up and stumbled along the walkway, ducked through the door into the new chamber.

It was empty, mostly, except for the secondary reactor pit and gunner's station. Smoke leaked from one of the vents, and the walls glowed scarlet with emergency lighting. Kulkmann tramped over to the reactor controls and transferred a bunch of energy from main, tried to keep the levels equal as best he could.

_CLUNK!_

There was a loud, ringing, impact. The walls trembled.

Kulkmann paused.

It was like something had _collided_ with the ship, almost. No alarms, but… he stepped over to where the noise had come from.

Suddenly, an intense point of light appeared in the wall, brilliant and white. Flames erupted from the metal with a loud incessant _hiss_; Kulkmann stumbled back and had to shield his face. The compartment lights blinked out, plunging the room into darkness except for that single bright point.

The light started moving downwards, then sideways along the floor, cutting a big rectangle in the hull plate right next to the gravolift doors. Kulkmann backed away, now that he knew what it was: the clunk of a boarding tube attaching itself to the hull, the too-bright-to-look-at glare of a plasma torch cutting through steel. Shadows flickered as the light moved upward. Sparks showered to the floor.

And then the light winked out.

Metal ticked and cooled in the darkness.

Then _BANG! _The hull plate exploded inward, propelled by some unseen force. Smoke whipped and curled with the sudden change in air pressure. Kulkmann felt his breath catch in his throat. _They must have attached themselves to the ship_, he thought incoherently_, matched velocities and come in with a limpet clamp—_

In the gloom beyond the hole, a figure appeared, lit by a faint green glow. It was tall, and had to bend slightly as it picked its way through the boarding tube. Gristly limbs rose from its back and curled around its chest.

It locked eyes calmly with the engineer cowering in the shadows.

"Hello," it said. "I am the rapist."


End file.
